“When I grow up, I am going to be a doctor.” For the past ten years, I have had a plan: graduate from high school, go to college, get into medical school, survive residency and live the rest of my life as a doctor. I was convinced that medicine was my calling. However, my experiences in the first year and a half of college have led me to question my goals, my priorities and my passions.
Like most students at William and Mary, I grew up with this innate desire to achieve at the highest level. Whether it was being the last one standing in dodgeball or winning a handwriting contest, I simply had to do my best. The school system reinforced these pressures on me. Administrators expected my peers and I to achieve at high levels on standardized tests. My guidance counselors encouraged me to take a multitude of advanced courses. And college admissions departments “highly recommended” getting involved in activities, acquiring leadership experience and volunteering. In order to get into medical school, I had to go to a top college, and in order to go to an excellent college, I had to be better than my peers. I had to stand out.
When graduation finally came, I walked away at the top of my class with an acceptance letter to one of the best public universities in the country. Over the summer, I began to plan my courses and think about majors. My first semester course load consisted of three science classes and one math class. I didn’t even consider taking a humanities course because I was going to be a doctor – what surgeon needs to know about British Literature?
However, a few months into my college career, I felt lost and alone. Although I tried to put on a happy face, I was dissatisfied. My weekends were spent locked in the library or hunched over my desk. To make matters worse, I didn’t really love my classes, and many of the clubs I joined were simply to “build my resume” rather than activities that I was genuinely interested in. However, I convinced myself that the stressful nights, the extra hours studying and the lack of a vibrant social life were worth it because one day, I would be a doctor.
By the end of my freshman year, I was “happy” – I survived the classic pre-med “weed-out” classes, I changed my major to biology, I had an internship lined up for the summer, and I was one year closer to my medical career.
I returned to campus for my sophomore year only to watch my plans breakdown. Halfway through the semester, I found myself dreading my biology class. The subject that once made me light up with excitement was making me miserable. And although I still enjoyed chemistry, I wasn’t doing as well as I did in previous courses. No matter how many flashcards I made, I struggled to memorize the reactions. To my surprise, my most enjoyable class was an American Politics course that I took on a whim. I found myself thinking critically about the issues facing our country. My professor would pose questions, suggest connections and allow us to form our own thoughts and opinions. I began to question whether or not I really had a passion for science. Sure, I still think chemistry is cool, but the thought of spending time mixing chemicals in a lab made me cringe. I hit the sophomore slump hard.
My plans were falling apart, yet my life was coming together. I stopped forcing myself to participate in clubs just because I needed to add lines to my resume. Instead, I involved myself with my sorority, an organization that brought me out of my shell and gave me a support system like no other. And rather than spending my Sunday nights at Hall Council meetings, I began writing for the Odyssey. I finally found an outlet for my opinions, words of advice and thoughts on life. Perhaps the decision to write will lead me to a career in journalism, or maybe it will simply be a lifelong hobby. Either way, I have found joy through writing.
However, the moment that my academic life forever changed was the day I finally realized that my grades don’t define me. I am not any less of a person because I got a B in my linear algebra class. Two years ago, the thought of receiving anything less than an A would have devastated me. At that time, the school system made me believe that my grades would affect the rest of my life. But today, I am happy to be free from the pressure to be perfect.
A 4.0 GPA, rigorous science classes and unnecessary clubs don’t make me happy. These are the things that make me smile:
- Spontaneous shopping excursions
- Eating cookie dough with a spoon
- Watching an episode (or four) of FRIENDS late at night
- Getting ice cream after my last class on Friday
- Chipotle (in good company, of course)
- Facetiming my friends from home
- Coffee breaks at Aroma’s
- Long chats about life with the people who matter most to me
As of this moment, I haven’t chosen a major, and I am undecided as to whether or not I want to go to medical school. I don’t have the next ten years of my life planned out. Yet, this uncertainty has brought me unexpected happiness. Looking back, I feel sorry for the high school version of myself that only thought of the future. I’m still a dedicated, hardworking, ambitious young woman, but I finally have realized that life is not about checking off imaginary boxes or following a step by step guide. Eventually, everything will come together. As cliché as it sounds, college has taught me to live for the moment and to stop making plans. And I’m happier for it.
